


Re-education Resulting from a Very Calculated Misstep

by greyscalemuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha?Sherlock, M/M, Multi, Omega!John, Omegaverse, Polyamory, Sherlock's not your normal Alpha, a lot of discussion, a/b/o dynamics, complicated Alpha/Beta/Omega politics, i guess i'll add more tags later, it's really hard to tag this without giving things away, kinda slow burn maybe?, omega!James, so much gender discussion, that question mark will make sense as you read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyscalemuse/pseuds/greyscalemuse
Summary: Sherlock and John have a very comfortable living arrangement, with very little to worry about. Until James is brought into the picture and everyone learns that things are never easy.





	Re-education Resulting from a Very Calculated Misstep

**Author's Note:**

> This... I'm not even going to lie. This is going to be a challenge. It already is a challenge. What started out as "Well I love Joltolock and I love Omegaverse so why not write Joltolock Omegaverse?" has turned into a bigger project than I originally intended. So... there you go.
> 
> This thing... is going to be tough. But I hope you all can bear with me.

Dating an Omega when one identified as a Beta inherently came with several sets of baggage, questions, and the ever present notion towards under performance in the bedroom; and personally, Sherlock wanted nothing to do with it.

So, to keep away from these unnecessary stresses, the answer was quite rudimentary – never involve yourself with an Omega.

And Sherlock had been doing a really good job at doing just that, up until John Watson waltzed into his life. Or at least, he would have waltzed if it weren’t for that ridiculous psychosomatic limp he sported, but Sherlock being ever the romantic continued to think back on John Watson waltzing. Preferably with him. Maybe to the likes of Dmitri Shostakovich’s Waltz No 2 (Blue Danube was far too drab and common for the likes of John Watson – no offence meant to Johann Strauss, of course).

Either way, John Watson had ruined Sherlock’s plans, that was for certain. With his clean cut appearance, fascinating demeanor, fantastic marksmanship, and gorgeous deep blue eyes, John reeled Sherlock in from day one and didn’t let go.

There was also the smell.

John’s insistence on suppressant usage (which was entirely his right as a citizen of a politically evolved first world country) meant that a medicinal, sanitary smell akin to the cleaners and soaps used in hospitals stubbornly clung to his person and was only vaguely masked by a strong brand of soap and cologne.

That didn’t deter Sherlock, of course, because at least once every three months – suppressants or no – in order to maintain a healthy cycle, John was required to go into heat (and being a doctor, it would be downright hypocritical for him to deny that).

And for a delicious week once every ninety days, Sherlock was privy to John’s natural scent.

It smelled of sandalwood and lemongrass with a hint of orange citrus that tickled the inside of Sherlock’s nose and elicited fantasies of tangled sheets and warm skin and frenzy and longing and something caught between.

Sherlock was only able to catch whiff of this very early on the first day of each occurrence, before John grumpily swatted him away and muttered his demands to leave him alone before he locked himself in his own bedroom. It was after one of these heats, right as John emerged from his bedroom, sweaty and exhausted, just before he could take a shower and the bland smell returned, that Sherlock Holmes swooped in and stole his first kiss from John Watson.

It was a closed and tight pressing of two pairs of lips, soft, tender, with a juvenile approach that held no filthy intentions, felt so perfect and was far too brief. John pulled back first, bewildered and struck speechless with only a few aborted syllables before he simply waited for Sherlock to explain.

And with wide, fearful eyes, Sherlock settled for the truth.  
“Your scent… I… I couldn’t stop myself.”

“That’s ridiculous,” John smiled gently to soften the patronizing tone of his next words, “You’re a Beta. You can’t smell me like that.”

A very matter-of-fact statement that held an immensely complicated truth buried beneath it.

 

* * *

 

When John had showered, he still had the remnants of his natural scent, though it was muddled now by man made concoctions meant to keep it at bay. Shampoo, conditioner, soap, after shave, it all fought to subdue the once pungent smell of sandalwood, lemongrass, and citrus – of John. Sherlock was mildly disappointed, but didn’t voice his discontent aloud. Instead, he stared down at a slide that he wasn’t actually looking at and pretended to be startled when John finally spoke to him. Or, at least, actually be startled when John finally spoke to him.

“Was that your first kiss?”

Sherlock could feel the slight burn of embarrassment crawl up the back of his neck, spread across his jaw and sink into his cheeks before he cleared his throat, keeping his eyes averted and downwards as he pushed himself away from the table. A quick flick of his eyes upwards and he caught John holding out his hand and did not miss the bemused smirk stretching across his face.

“You know what? Never mind.”

They didn’t speak of it again. It was yet another buried not-so-secret truth that was left to fester just beneath the surface and wouldn’t be properly addressed, explored and exposed until James Sholto stepped into their lives exactly eighty-three days later.

 

* * *

 

The first mention of James Sholto was John receiving the very grim news that his former commanding officer had been injured. Sherlock was unsure of how to ease John’s distress on this news. This was partly due to his own inexperience in dealing with such personal matters and also because he couldn’t help but feel a slight surge of unjustified jealousy at the notion that John had been close to this man Sherlock had never met.

It inexpiably eased when Sherlock found out that James was a bonded Omega, and guilt set in when he found out that the circumstances of James’ injury had placed significant stress on his bond – which his bondmate had opted to break instead of renew.

This last bit of news had lit a fuse of silent rage inside John that hissed through his teeth and made his fists clench. Sherlock watched on, lips parted as a number of questions threatened to bubble forward but could never quite make it past the lump in his throat. He flinched when John’s bedroom door slammed after the other man stormed up the stairs and retreated, and he stayed cemented in place, standing awkwardly in the doorway until Mrs. Hudson hurried up the stairs.

“What is this racket?” She looked at Sherlock in an accusatory manner before demanding, “What did you say to him?”

“Me? Nothing!” Sherlock insisted and blinked a few times as time began to catch up around him. “No honestly! I didn’t say a thing…” He looked upwards, dazed and shook his head. “He said something about his old commanding officer’s bond being broken and then stormed away!”

He finally jarred himself from where he’d been standing to dramatically swirl into his respective chair, Mrs. Hudson following after him with a wringing of her hands.

“Oh is that it then? The poor dear…” she tutted as she started to tidy up a little. Sherlock watched her curiously as his questions from before began to find his voice.

“Why does it concern him? Bonds have been broken before. It happens all the time, does it not?”

“Oh, Sherlock… please be more sensitive when talking about it!” Mrs. Hudson took a breath and willed her voice into a gentler tone as she took in Sherlock’s genuine wide-eyed curiosity. “Now, I know you’re a Beta. They don’t educate these kinds of things very well for your type but… an Alpha forcibly breaking their bond with an Omega is hard on an Omega’s body… especially when they’re older… a decent Alpha… well, a decent Alpha doesn’t do such things.” She shook her head, nose wrinkling in disgust and Sherlock sat silently as he let this information digest.

“So what happens? To the Omega, to the Alpha?”

Mrs. Hudson fidgeted, visibly uncomfortable with the turn of Sherlock’s line of questioning, “We don’t talk about that in polite society, Sherlock. It’s best you just let it go.”

“But I want to understand…”

“I know you do, sweetheart but just… let this one go, okay? And don’t bring it up to John.”

“Then how do I help?”

Mrs. Hudson reached out and patted Sherlock’s hand, “Give John some time. It’ll sort itself out.”

Sherlock frowned at this, but filed it away none the less. He gave John time, as requested, and John was downstairs in the kitchen just in time to order dinner for the two of them. He didn’t mention James Sholto again until a week later.

 

* * *

 

“Sherlock, I have something I need to tell you… well… ask you.”

Sherlock blinked out of his own daydreams to stare over at John, who had been trying to get his attention for what looked to be a reasonable amount of time from the slight crease between his eyebrows.

“Yes, John?” Sherlock hoped his voice was gentle enough. He had been treading carefully around John as if the other man was made of frail, barely pieced together eggshells, just as Mrs. Hudson had instructed. He had not asked about bond breaking, despite how much he wanted to, and the restrictions on his search engine as a registered Beta yielded very little results. He had not tried to steal John’s laptop for the sake of this research, no matter how tempted he had been, and for that he felt he deserved some credit. Not that he could ask for it, asking required bringing up the newly tabooed topic and he had resolved to himself that he’d do no such thing.

Instead, he’d taken to daydreaming for long intervals just to keep the topic off his mind, or at least off his tongue, and it had worked thus far.

He shook his head to keep from dazing off again when he noticed that John was speaking.

“… hoping that is alright?”

“What’s alright?”

He watched as John closed his eyes and silently pray for patience before he began again.

“I was talking about James… Major Sholto. He has no where to go and no legal bondmate. They won’t release him from the hospital unless it is in the care of a legal guardian – which he doesn’t have – or another medical professional. They’re willing to allow me to take custody of him because of our shared history but mostly because I am a doctor. I’m hoping that’s okay with you.”

“So… he’d come and… live here?”

“Yes. He’d live here. Mrs. Hudson agreed to rent 221C to him and I have checked and since it’s in the same building, they’re allowing it by calling it a multiple shared household. I just wanted to let you know…”

Sherlock frowned deeply, “So… he’s not allowed to live alone?”

“No. He’s not.”

“But you’re allowed to live alone.”

“I’ve never had a legal bondmate.”

“… what’s the difference?”

For one sickening minute Sherlock had thought he’d overstepped and insulted John – even worse, angered him – but as John lifted his face, patience stretched tight and thin over his smile. “There’s a difference, Sherlock.”

“Yes, but why?”

“You wouldn’t understand… you’re a Beta.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was sitting just out of sight at the top of the stairs, waiting for John to return. He heard the door open and craned his neck, but the angle of the stairwell proved to provide little visibility. He more heard than saw two figures stumbling in – John and what sounded to be a much taller man, probably braced on his shoulder. They spoke in hushed voices and Mrs. Hudson joined them quickly, her voice soothing. Sherlock could barely make out their conversation, understanding nothing more than Mrs. Hudson’s very sympathetic “poor dear” before their footfalls ushered the newest resident of 221 to his new living quarters.

Sherlock stepped down the first three steps and leaned over the edge of the banister before quickly turning and retreating back into 221B before anyone caught him.

He wouldn’t meet James Sholto, officially, for another five days, just before John’s scheduled heat was set to start. There wasn’t any formal introduction, Sholto was just sipping on a glass of water, looking over the various experiments Sherlock had scattered across the kitchen table. Sherlock approached cautiously, eyes darting from one bit of information to the next as they scanned over the tall, battle injured man. There were scared burns patched across his left cheek that stretched past the collar of the tee shirt he wore – and low on the right side of his neck, in a vile shade of purple and yellow-ish green, were the discolored remains of a rejected bond mark that was still trying to heal. Sherlock didn’t realize he was staring at it until Sholto turned to look at him.

“You must be Sherlock,” he remarked, stepping back from the table and setting his glass on the counter next to the sink. “John’s mentioned you a few times since I moved in.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly, trying to figure out exactly how to greet this stranger, and feeling the sudden loss of not having John nearby to do it for him. He finally settled on, “Yes… I… yes, I’m Sherlock. You must be James…” and he paused and trailed after that, not entirely sure how to proceed from there. Thankfully, James seemed a bit more at ease in conversation than he was.

“He’s assured me that you probably have a number of inappropriate questions regarding my current status. Which one do you want to ask first?”

Sherlock took an actual step backwards at the invitation and choked a bit on his own spit. “You’ll… you’ll let me?”

“I doubt you can do any more damage than what I’ve already endured.”

There was a snap in front of his eyes signalling that he’d must have slipped away while pondering his first question. “How long was I gone?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“Can I look at it?”

Sherlock reeled a little bit at the consenting nod and James took a seat before he clarified. “Look, don’t touch. It’s still tender.”

He stepped closer, breath caught in his throat before he bent down to take a closer look at the abused skin. It almost looked just like a healing bruise. It was raised slightly from obvious swelling and there were dried flakes of peeling skin in the faint outline of a bite mark. There was a pungent smell of infection, which upon further enquiry was supposedly normal. Sherlock placed his hands on James’ shoulders as he bent down to get a closer look. Underneath his palms he felt evidence of rapid weight loss, another thing he was assured was also common when he asked.

He took a sharp inhale and dizzily he registered, beneath the smell of antibiotics and a healing bond mark, was what could only be James.

It was pleasant, much like John’s, but a bit spicier. Like cloves with a hint of firewood and cinnamon.

It made Sherlock think of Christmas and it filled his insides with a warmth that he’d begun to associate with smelling John after one of his heats. He let it, for a moment, settle his senses and slow his rocket-engine mind to an easier to manage pace. He found himself taking up a seat beside James and looking at him with an odd fondness that should not be shared with a near stranger, yet seemed immensely familiar none the less. James, in turn, looked back at him and waited, again, with patience to see if Sherlock would speak again.

“Did you just finish your heat?”

There was a quirked eyebrow and a twisted smirk before James nodded slowly, “They induced estrus after the bond was rejected to jump start a normal unbonded cycle. I’d just finished when they released me into John’s care,” he tilted his head thoughtfully and looked Sherlock up and down. “Why? Could you tell?”

“I can tell a lot of things…”

“Yes, John has mentioned that as well.”

Sherlock drummed his fingers a few times against the table before he tilted his head. “Is there a difference? Between unbonded and bonded Omega cycles?”

James crossed his arms and regarded Sherlock with a sense of amusement that Sherlock was unused to when he began to ask his questions. He was often greeted with disgust or dismay in regards to his overwhelming curiosity towards the secondary genders.

“They really don’t teach you Betas much about this kind of thing, do they?” Sherlock shook his head and remained silent, waiting for his answer. James shifted forward and nodded with a sigh, “Alright. Yes. An unbonded Omega’s cycle is monthly, while a bonded Omega’s cycle is every three months.”

“So that’s why unbonded Omegas on suppressants are encouraged to have a heat every three months?”

James nodded in the affirmative. “All suppressants are designed to do is to mimic a natural bond. There are suppressants on the market that cease estrus all together but… they can often cause permanent damage to an Omega’s reproductive system. They’re usually only prescribed if an Omega is already infertile or has experienced difficulty presenting if they are unqualified for sterilization surgery.”

Sherlock studied James’ face, the dark circles and the way his cheeks sunk in unnaturally. He wondered if this was what Mrs. Hudson meant when she said no self-respecting Alpha would ever break a bond, if this was the result. He found himself asking before he could remind himself it was socially unacceptable to do so.

“Do you hate your Alpha for breaking your bond?”

The slight hissing inhale told Sherlock he’d cut a bit too deep in his questions and he could feel himself burning for doing so. “I can’t fully answer that,” James admitted. “Because I loved him, immensely, and I understand… completely.”

“But do you really?”

“No. Though I tell myself that… I suppose to keep from hating him.”

“Why?”

James shrugged and smiled, though this one was less amused and more sad and strained and full of a kind of sick loathing that tore at Sherlock’s insides. “Because that’s what I’m told to do.”

Sherlock had more questions, but decided, for the sake of the other man sitting across from him, that he wouldn’t pursue them. So instead, he offered a quiet ‘thank you’ and went about his day.

 

* * *

 

James and Sherlock didn’t speak again until three days into John’s heat. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the sitting room, staring off into space, towards the open door of 221B. Well, staring off into space wasn’t entirely the right word for it. He was fantasizing about going up those stairs and helping John through what must be a very trying time. He almost took a tiny step towards doing exactly that if it weren’t for James’ sudden appearance in the doorway. Or maybe it wasn’t sudden, exactly. It was entirely possible that Sherlock just noticed him after however long he’d been standing there.

In a few more blinks, Sherlock found himself being shoved back against the refrigerator with James’ nose buried into the side of his neck.

“That’s you,” he whispered. “God, I knew it.”

Sherlock reached up and tangled his fingers into James’ hair as he tilted his head to the side and allowed the other man breathe him in and hold it before exhaling and then breathing him in again. The warmth of James’ breath against him almost soothed the rising panic that swelled in Sherlock’s chest. Almost. Though all he could muster was the stuttered “You can smell me?”

“It’s faint. So faint…” James whispered before he pulled away and closed his eyes, slouching slightly before he brought his gaze to meet Sherlock’s. His eyes were glassy and distant and Sherlock could swear he could see his pulse jumping rapidly just beneath the thin skin stretched along his neck. He flinched as James’ hands were pressed to his face, the rough scarred skin of his left palm grazing low on his jawline, while the thumb of his right hand traced high along his cheekbone. And then he withdrew, as if all of his senses came crashing forward and broke his frenzied spell, dropping his hands to his sides and standing up to his full height. “Sherlock, I’m about to ask a very personal question and you do not need to answer it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Sherlock mutely nodded in reply.

“You’re not… actually a Beta… are you?”

Sherlock’s heart stuttered, but still he managed to shake his head from side to side before finding his voice and saying, quite confidently despite the way his palms were sweating, “No… I’m not.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock cradled the cup of freshly poured tea between both of his hands, staring down into the swirling liquid before bringing it to his lips and taking a long sip. He looked back to see James puttering around in the kitchen of 221C with the usual level of noise. He hadn’t pressed further on his current line of questioning, instead just inviting Sherlock down to his apartment, as if the extra flight of stairs would help him forget what was happening in John’s bedroom.

For the record, it really didn’t.

So Sherlock did the first thing he could think of that would act as a distraction – he pursued understanding and asked questions.

“How did you notice? Why did you notice? John’s never noticed…”

James finally settled on the chair opposite of Sherlock and sighed. “John’s an unbonded Omega medical professional who served in the army. He wouldn’t notice.” James held up a finger at the perplexed look crossing Sherlock’s face. “I’ll explain… being an unbonded Omega is considered a severe liability, even with suppressants. To help eliminate potential bias, any unbonded professional is vigorously trained to react to pheromones and not smell.”

“Because suppressants help eliminate the perception of pheromones…”

“… but can’t override an individual’s scent…” James tilted his head, a strange look of sadness and curiosity creasing his brow, “So the fact that he wasn’t able to recognize you tells me that you’re…” he trailed off almost out of fear before he leaned in, the word trapped just behind his parted lips.

“I’m an ‘ill-presented’,” Sherlock set his tea down so he could gesture with crude air quotes. “I hate that word. Makes it sounds like I have some kind of plague.”

James’s laugh was cut short by a soft ‘thud’ that sounded two flights up. “Stay here,” he urged as he hurried out the door of his apartment and up the stairs. Sherlock followed to the edge of the doorway and paused just short of the hallway. He craned his neck up and listened to the hushed voices, John’s soft protesting moans and James’ quiet urgings to get back to bed.

When James came back down he gave a look that Sherlock, frustratingly, couldn’t quite read fully before he asked in a soft voice, “Is there somewhere else we can go?”

 

* * *

 

“Do you have to wrap your arm around me while we walk?” Sherlock mutters as James keeps a hand very firm on his hip.

“Yes. For your sake and mine. Your scent is faint but trust me, it’s strong enough for someone to notice you, and I’m a freshly unbonded Omega days after a medically induced heat and not on suppressants yet, so forgive me for having some self preservation in mind.”

“Then why did we even leave the house?” Sherlock hissed, glaring at the way James rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that. It makes me feel like a child.”

“Sherlock, in the brief time I’ve known you I have become well aware of your adulthood, however you do have an admitted lack of knowledge on Alpha/Omega sexuality.”

“At no fault of my own which you can’t punish me for! Now can you please explain?”

James sighed as he nodded, just as they fell into a nice leisured pace as they hugged closer to the shop windows. “Alright. You’re right,” he sucked in a breath and let it out slowly before he began to explain, “John picked up your scent, so I had to get him back into the room before he found out where it was coming.”

“He’s never done that before…”

“Well, I think that’s where I’ve thrown a bit of a wrench into this whole… arrangement you two have had.”

Sherlock nodded slowly before his eyes widened, point A connecting to point B leading to revelation C, “Oh… oh! I’m reacting to you, aren’t I?”

“Whatever you’ve had surgically modified doesn’t remove basic instinct. How much do they teach you in Beta curriculum?”

“Not much. Barely brushed over the anatomical differences and even less on the actual mechanics. Not that they did much better on Beta sex education either, any additional information I gained was from constant badgering from Mycroft to give me his sex education textbook until it got taken away… he’s an Alpha,” Sherlock supplied to James’ potential follow up question, “So I still don’t know much in the way of Omega details, just enough to know my own biology – or at least how I’m different. I’m blocked from doing a web search and if I were to use John’s account, I’d only raise suspicion.”

“Admittedly, those textbooks don’t write down everything and are usually gender specific… regardless, it seems you’ve caught up and answered your own question.”

“I never understood all the secrecy,” Sherlock sighed out of annoyance, a sentiment parroted by James with a smile, “But back to the topic at hand – you think that the introduction of a second unbonded Omega in the household managed to stimulate what’s left of my… Alphahood.”

“I do not know the full extent of your situation, Sherlock, but I can assure you that whatever was done to you in no way revoked your original presented form.”

“And how are you so certain?”

“I admittedly don’t know much about ill-presented, so you’re welcome to correct me on any misconceptions. However, I do know that surgery is not elective nor is it complete.”

Sherlock had slowed before coming to a stop in front of a small electronics shop with a row of televisions on display. They were all turned onto a news stations, the day’s highlighted stories scrolling along the bottom of the muted reporters.

“You’re right,” he remarked as his eyes fixed on one of the top stories – an Alpha on trial for various crimes towards their bondmate. He swallowed a growing lump in his throat before he turned away from it. “Sometimes I like to think it was…”

“Do you?”

Sherlock snarled a little, obviously spurred forward by James’ enquiry, into something that obviously weighed down on his thoughts – a lot. He pushed open his coat to tear open a seam in the lining and pulled out a pack of cigarettes he’d sewn into it the last time he tried to quit. “Alphas and Omegas are refused sterilization surgery unless it interferes directly with their health or they’re otherwise deemed unqualified,” he lit the cigarette, huffing out the first drag in frustration, “If they are qualified, then the surgery is done without question. They are then stripped of their identity by force – whether they wish it or not – required to be registered and live as Betas.”

Sherlock paused, quickly placing a hand onto the small of James’ back as an intrigued Alpha lingered a little too close. Pairing the gesture with a pointed glare was enough to deter any further advancement. Once the Alpha backed down, Sherlock continued with his tirade, a bit more hushed than before, “But the sterilization surgery doesn’t fully change your presented gender. You’re not… suddenly a Beta. They don’t bother to give you a complete identity. So you’re stuck in this… weird in-between where you don’t belong in the first place but you’re forced to live it anyway by some consolation,” He stared at the lit end of his cigarette and wrinkled his nose at it before dropping his gaze to the loose hold James still had on his hip. “So if I think it’s a choice to live like this? It helps… sometimes… maybe it should be one.”

James reached out and plucked the cigarette from Sherlock’s quivering fingers before taking a drag of it himself and handing it back. A thin line of smoke spiralled upwards as he tilted his head back and exhaled.

“Yeah… maybe it should be.”

 

* * *

 

“So would you be a Beta?” James finally asked as they sat on a park bench and share a greasy basket of chips. He elaborated at the quirk of Sherlock’s eyebrow, “Again, you don’t have to answer – but if it actually was a choice – would you register yourself as an Alpha or a Beta?”

Sherlock pondered the question for a moment before wrinkling his nose and frowning at the chip poised between his fingers, “I don’t know. I feel like I have insufficient evidence…”

“Well… are you happy as a Beta?”

“I…” Sherlock trailed and bought more time by stuffing a greasy piece of starch in his mouth, taking his time chewing before he swallowed quite dramatically (if one could be a dramatic swallower, so to speak) and tapped his fingers on his knees. “I never thought about it that way… but I don’t know if it’s that simple.”

“Maybe not, but it’s at least a starting point.”

Sherlock was still as the thought weighed on his mind. He turned it over and examined it, dissected it and pieced it back together before he finally blurted out after twenty-five minutes of silence, “It doesn’t feel right. Being a Beta.”

“Right now? Or ever?”

“Ever…”

“That didn’t sound certain.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders as he straightened his back, “It is. It’s very certain.”

James nodded and smiled, “Well… you certainly would know better than I…”

Sherlock stared down at his hands before slouching a bit more and closing his eyes. “At the same time…”

James tilted his head out of curiosity, but he never got the full answer that particular fragmented sentence introduced.

“You know what?” Sherlock shook his head and stood suddenly, brushing his fingers off on his trousers, paying little mind to the grease streaks down them, “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about this.”

James promptly dropped the subject.

 

* * *

 

The next two days were relatively quiet. Sherlock stayed in James’ apartment, partly hiding or mostly hiding – actually definitely hiding – from John until the other man’s heat was over. They only re-approached Sherlock’s gender identity once during those two days, and it was only when he crawled into bed next to James in the middle of the night.

“What are you doing?” James murmured, the side of his cheek pressed heavily into his pillow.

“Sorry,” Sherlock offered very quietly, knees on the bed as he sat back on his haunches and waited, “I just… I could hear you thrashing and… I was hoping I could help?”

“It’s your smell. I can tell there’s an Alpha near me and it’s making me anxious.”

“Should I leave then?”

James pushed himself up onto his good elbow and squinted to try to discern Sherlock’s face from the shadows of his room. “You are not at all how John described you.”

“John is use to seeing me in a far more controlled environment.”

“You mean John is use to seeing you when you know what you’re doing.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“You’re suggesting that sex is out of your element?”

“Depends on if you’re suggesting that sex is what you’re after.”

James couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head before he pushed himself over onto his other side. “No. Not exactly. Lay down.”

Sherlock slid down across the top of the duvet and rest his head on the pillow James offered to him. He settled on his side and his hand twitched in several directions before hovering awkwardly between them. James gently coaxed Sherlock onto his back, took the aforementioned hovering hand, and let it rest on Sherlock’s chest before he slid next to him and rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, nose very near the scent gland just above the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” James very carefully laid out an escape route for that admittedly jittery, newly-outed Alpha.

“No,” Sherlock whispered to the dark before he swallowed. “Is it helping?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“Never one to let things just be, are you Mr. Holmes?”

“I’m just…”

“Curious. Yes, I realize. Can I explain in the morning?”

“… yes.”

“Good. Wake me if you get uncomfortable.”

Sherlock allowed him to sleep.


End file.
